


Burning Love

by literallyananime



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 50's AU, Alternate Universe - Greasers, Awkward Romance, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hippies, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-03-22 17:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13768884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literallyananime/pseuds/literallyananime
Summary: Angela Ziegler is a beautiful, intelligent young woman with many aspirations in the medical field. She never took the time to become involved with someone romantically, so what happens when a dirty Junker comes and catches her attention?





	1. A New Face

Preps are never short of confidence and charm. Their impeccable looks are nothing to look past, either. They quite often catch the eyes of roaming citizens, almost seeming like they have a sweet honey scent that always naturally lingers. Their typically flushed cheeks and dashing style are enough to shoot through the hearts of men and women alike. Such angels cannot be easily ignored upon simple communities in California. However, there wouldn’t be good if there wasn’t at least a smidgen of bad. Opposites attract and, unfortunately, they attract the most despicable group; Junkers. They almost seem like a completely different species.

Junkers aren’t exactly high on the attractive scale like the Preps. They set their own rules and lack simple manners. They dress crudely and are always carrying a record with them. Dirty, dirty pests are what most citizens say when asked to describe these roaches. They seem to almost protest the Preps for being so radically different from them. Rather than search for success, they love to pick fights against ignorant citizens. You might be able to put up a fight and make it out alive, but you will probably sacrifice a wallet and a couple teeth for your behind to survive those punks.

The groups never catch themselves interacting, unless it’s for an exchange of nasty words and dirty looks. Their rivalry is comparable to royalty and peasants, and being an onlooker upon an argument is almost like spectating a gladiator battle. It was like God and the Devil bickering with such vast differences, tastes, and appearances being so easy to see. It’s free entertainment for those outside of these groups and it was humiliating for both sides. Some members of these groups, however, have no desire to be an addition in these useless conversations and quarrels.

Angela Ziegler is one of those who detests the thought of picking a fight with a Junker for the sake of pettiness. She is aware of the silly social groups coming together only to feel the satisfaction of insulting each other. She always denies invitations from Preps to go see fist fights between the gangs, to take a drag at the football game behind the bleachers. She studies how horrible cigarettes are for your body, for god’s sake! And to even go to a drive-in movie (she knew how those always ended up). She is also just too nervous and has to juggle a job at the diner in between her school work. Starting university at the age of 17 really puts her lightyears ahead despite the business and lack of young adult fun she should be having, and her infinite bouts of intelligence unknowingly attract her to the Preps, but she can’t help ignoring their influence because she is just so caught up in her education. Her attraction is from the fact she is bursting with angelic features- long, curly hair, a perfect smile, milky skin, and a ravishing body. She never took the time to enter relationships growing up, however, even when aware of her natural beauty. She only has a couple friends from her few years of residing in America after transferring from her orphanage in Switzerland. Lena Oxton and Genji Shimada are her only pals, but they are no doubt some of the best she has ever known. Lena is her old classmate and Angela personally tutored Genji in English after arriving as an exchange student at her old high school. She is always nervous that if she finally decides to go to a dumb Prep event, that meathead Jesse McCree will be there again to try to sweep her off her feet. She really just- she has no interest.

Angela adores the fact Jesse tries so hard, though. He’s been trying ever since middle school, and despite his efforts, she can’t bring herself to like the poor guy. She thinks he is too bold for her, and the attention she would attract from even going on a date with him would be too much to bear for her small beating heart. She wants someone perhaps that isn’t bold like him, someone that _isn’t_ starving for attention. Someone inconspicuous, someone that no one would expect her to get with. She can’t really let that desire get to her, though. It’s pointless. Everyone she attracts is just an A-List douchebag.

Her job at the diner isn’t absent of these suffocating issues either. Preps always come in to flirt her number out of her with, typically, no success. McCree seems to always drop by for a milkshake and fries as well, asking for the same two cherries, extra whip cream, and for the crunchiest fries. He just likes to prolong his stay, just like the other men that come in trying to get Angela’s heart. They always get moody when Angela isn’t the one to serve them, so she always feels a little guilty. Today, however, is different. It isn’t Jesse’s scruffy face, nor the typical slicked back Prep coming in to make a useless attempt at wooing her. It’s… a Junker. Actually, a couple Junkers. Angela freezes and nervously smiles when the duo make eye contact with her.

“H-Hello! Welcome to the Panorama Diner!” Angela sputters out.

The Junkers just glare at her, the blonde one looking amused. He’s slouched so low it almost seems condescending to be talking to him. She makes a slightly concerned look at him, but she can’t see his expressions through his shades to see if he is reciprocating. She looks up to the taller man, much bigger than the one next to him. He has an intimidating mask on, alike to a pig. She nudges her head to lead them where they will be sitting. She has a nervous feeling tingling in the pit of her stomach while they follow closely behind her, one of them having a loud clanking noise following them, causing attention to turn their way from fellow customers filling the diner.

She sits them down in a booth after the couple decide their seating choice and Angela gently hands over their menus. She politely asks what drinks they would like and quickly scribbles it down on her notepad and walks away in a rush, heels clacking loudly. She puts their small order of a milkshake and a coffee up on the thin line with a clothespin for one of her coworkers to get started on. She runs to the back through the kitchen and pushes up against the wall and lets out a breath. She really didn’t expect today to be so unpredictable. Angela stares at the empty room, and concludes that she may have just accidentally stumbled into her “ _dream bad boy_ ”. Angela lets out a long breath of relief once more and puts her hair behind her ears, adjusting her glasses. She blushes uncontrollably and wonders how she could perhaps strike up a small side conversation with the boy she was eyeing. She then hears the door next to her swing open.

“Hey, Angie. You gonna get these drinks out or what?”

It’s Hana, thankfully, and not her asshole boss. Hana has been working here for quite some time, ever since she was 16. She knows the ins and outs of the place, and made sure Angela was all caught up when she started herself just a year ago. Angela adjusts her hat and straightens her uniform, laughing nervously. “I-I’m sorry about that, I’ll get right on it,” she chuckles. She swiftly walks past her and grabs the platter of drinks off the counter with one hand and puts the other behind her, rolling it into a fist to try to find some ground and not trip on the way to the Junkers. She walks over slowly, trying to regain confidence and compose herself. However, she stops slightly before their booth and can’t help but stare. The blonde Junker has taken off his shades, and glances at her before looking back down at the menu. He has an array of freckles spread across his face, soft amber eyes, and bushy eyebrows. His sharp features are more prominent now that he isn’t wearing his shades and the sun beams on him as it lowers outside, shining through the window as dusk approaches. Angela can’t stop staring and blushing at the sight of this man. He looks bad to the bone and so amazing all the while. She snaps out of it when he speaks up.

“Er, are ya… gonna give us the drinks there, sheila?” he nervously asks, almost like he’s expecting her to say no.

Angela is so embarrassed and purses her lips. She shakily puts down the coffee cup and milkshake in front of the two and apologizes profusely. Amazing, she finally meets someone she thinks is worth the time and, well, fucks it up. Looking like an idiot as usual. She stumbles over her words while asking for their orders, and the dark feeling of disappointment fills her stomach when she can’t even bring herself to make small talk with them, unlike with other customers. She takes their menus and gloomily walks back, once again posting the orders and exhaling against the counter. Hana walks up to her and pats her shoulder.

“Hey, were those guys mean to you? I’ll beat them up if they were!”

Angela snickers at this. Poor Hana is much too small for anything like that and she shakes her head, looking up to her through her lowered glasses. She smiles and hopes Hana won’t ask what happened so she doesn’t spill the beans of her prominent crush just yet.

“I heard how those Junkers are, Angie! I’ll get them after my shift, I promise. I’ll get my cruiser and everything,” Hana shouted so softly, as to not attract more attention to the messy Angela.

“Oh, Hana, no. Nothing like that happened. Just was nervous, is all,” she chuckles again, and gives a nervous smile when Hana eyes her with ferocity.

“Were they hitting on you?!” she asks furiously.

Angela audibly swallows. Imagining the blonde Junker flirting with her was so grand to think about it. And so exciting. And so... _hot_. She wants to melt, but she composes herself and pulls out of her hopeless fantasy. She shakes her head again and hopes this humiliating conversation will end soon.

“N-no, I just never interacted with… with a Junker before, you know?” she nervously smiles, feeling like it’s going to rip her face open if she keeps faking her composure. Hana crosses her arms and walks towards the kitchen.

“Well, let me or my pop know if they do anything… weird, okay? We’ll ban ‘em, pronto!” she grins and pushes through the doors. Angela just lets out a sigh of disbelief and stands straight, saying sweet goodbyes to the customers that are departing. She makes herself clean up tables as a distraction, trying her best to not pay attention to the Junkers near the tables she tidies up. She sets the dishes in the sink residing in the kitchen and walks out to find the orders ready. She sucks in a breath and puffs out her chest. The chef just gives her a confused look when she proudly grabs the plates. Angela just ignores his stare and lifts her chin. She walks away with her head held high and confidently puts the plates down for the Junkers. She smiles and is glad she isn’t a shaky sweaty mess this time. She walks away and stops immediately when the blonde one speaks up again in his creaky, Aussie accent.

“Hey… sweetheart, you gave us the wrong orders.”

She actually can’t believe this for a second. She turns back, horrified, sweating, and nauseous. She drops her shoulders when she sees that he is giving her a thumbs up.

“Heh… just kiddin’ ya. Shoulda seen the look on your face, though!”

His grin widens and he can’t stop snickering. The bigger man turns back to her slowly and mutters, “I’m sorry. He’s an idiot.”

She blushes from his low growl and the humiliating joke so much she thought to herself, I may as well curl up and die! She storms back to the counter and hides her face in her hands, filled with horror that she almost fucked that up more! What could she have done? How many apologies would it have taken? Would it have made it obvious she thought he was cute?! That his bloody existence is enough to make her flub up her job?!! And.. just.. Wait. Why… why did _he_ joke with _her_ like that?

She huffs and crosses her arms, removing her face from her clammy hands. She eyes them across from where she stood, watching the blonde one gorge his food whilst talking away with the other man. He seems to only nod a few times and has the energy of a slug. Not very talkative, it seems. She finds it funny such an odd couple have come together in such an awkward friendship. Maybe they’re each other’s anchor, she thinks. She smirks while brushing the thought away and goes into the kitchen to get started on dish duty. She squirms where she stands, thinking how short of the night has passed and how impossibly eventful it has been. She finishes the dishes after some time and walks back out, shocked to not see the men sitting at their booth. She sees that someone already gave them their check and there’s money on it for the tip. She frowns and walks over slowly, expecting the usual $5.00 and a couple dimes and pennies. She picks it up and sees a small piece of paper fall down on the floor. She bends down to pick it up, but gasps when she sees what’s on it.

**_HEY CUTIE, I’M JUNKRAT! (AKA JAMISON) CALL ME!!!_ **

There’s a cute little smiley face at the end of the string of numbers. She smiles wide and has butterflies nearly bursting out of her stomach. She thinks surely it was for her, and not the one who delivered the check. She stands up and puts the small paper to her chest before stuffing it in her pocket. With 4 hours left of her shift, she was allowed to daydream until the time came for her to jump into her bed and call... him. _Jamison_.

  



	2. A Little Hopeless

Angela’s shift goes by slowly while an agonizing burn grows inside her, and she’s becoming more and more excited to go home and phone the mysterious man named ‘Jamison’. She almost can’t believe this was all really happening, that she was lucky enough to be able to catch his attention, and for him to leave his number too! It’s all so exhilarating and can even be considered fun, as this is the first time Angela has ever been able to grow such a romantic interest in someone. Jamison being a junker makes this entire situation all so daring, nearly making the fun almost sadistic for sweet Angela. She hasn’t hidden her emotions well, however, as Hana seems to have caught on that something fishy is twirling around in Angela’s brain.

“Angie, you’re all over the place! What’s up?” she inquires.

Angela stiffens and makes eye contact with the curious Hana. There isn’t anyone in the diner anymore since it’s closing time, so she gains enough confidence and volume for her voice to question her back in an attempt to peel her off.

“What do you mean, Hana?” she asks. Hana scowls and scoffs. It’s concerning, but she doesn’t mind the slight aggression Hana is showing.

“...I _mean_ , you seem distracted. Don’t tell me those Junkers got through that big brain of yours,” she says while dramatically rolling her eyes.

Angela just nervously laughs this off. She expected Hana would lighten up after seeing the couple not making a mess of the restaurant and actually having proper manners, unlike most other Junkers they have dealt with. They were never the most charming or anticipated customers to walk through these doors. Angela looks down and reaches into her pocket, grabbing and unfolding the paper of the messy note Jamison scribbled. She decides to show Hana, thinking maybe she would understand that they are different from the rest.

“W-well, one of the Junkers left their number. I just thought-”

“What? Gimme that,” Hana interrupts.

Hana yanks the note from Angela’s grasp and inspects it closely. She just grunts and tears the paper into small pieces. Angela’s eyes widen, she can’t believe Hana has just thrown her only chance away at love while staying so calm, no guilt present on her face whatsoever. The blondie’s entire body lowered, as if every bone in her body has turned to jello. Hana looks back after throwing the bits into the trash and crosses her arms.

“Ugh, don’t you worry about that Jamison guy. He’s always comin’ in here to pick up chicks. Even tried to get at me once! I’ll make sure he doesn’t come back, though,” she says with the slightest amused tone to it.

Angela couldn’t help but grow sad quickly from this statement. Perhaps it really wasn’t meant to be, that her first shot at romance would only end up in the trash a few inches away from her. It was probably for the better, anyways. The guy probably has a ton of girls crawling on their knees for him. He was a needle in the haystack in this barren town. I mean he’s so handsome, and funny, and-

“Angela, can you PLEASE get back to work so we can all go home?”

The voice came from the doorway Hana and her were standing next to. It was just their boss, Jack. He was just an old, scruffy man with visible scars sprawling across his face. He owned the diner for years and never once seemed to ease his mood or tone, even with the rapid success he has experienced with this place. He’s slouching  low in the frame, but he still stands inches taller than the girls, it’s quite an intimidating presence. He’s also Hana’s “pop” and makes it known to everyone he meets that he has the strong father figure gig going on.

“Y-yes, sorry sir,” Angela quietly stutters.

Jack shakes his head and sighs, stomping back to the kitchen to scrape the grill. Angela carries on with cleaning duty and keeps to herself for the rest of the night. It always takes so damn long to close the diner up, as Jack wants everything ready to open in the mornings. When they all finally part ways for the night, Angela sits in her car and stares solemnly at the wheel.

She doesn’t know what to do about her emotions. She was looking forward to calling Jamison up all afternoon. She thinks Hana was just looking out for her, and wonders if she should just let it go. She rolls down the window and throws open her glovebox. Angela always keeps a small pack of cigarettes in there for occasions like this - the stressful and shitty situations she wishes she could simply reverse. She lights the cigarette and takes a few puffs, inhaling and exhaling with large, gentle breaths. She opens her door and stomps the last bit of the stick out in the parking lot.

She’s always ashamed when she does this, knowing how harmful these things are. In her defense, however, where Lena is off travelling in other countries with her girlfriend and Genji is cut from contact while studying with his mentor, the only thing to turn to is the bane of her existence. She sighs and drives home slowly, with the scent of ash lingering upon her. She hastily unlocks the door to her house and steps inside, throwing her heels off immediately. Her house wasn’t too shabby since she was able to gather an inheritance from her parents. It was a very simple loft house, beautifully decorated and a great size for a single person. She sets the lights to a very dim setting, walks up the stairs and slams down onto her bed after throwing her glasses off to the side. She wants to cry from frustration, from the fact she couldn’t properly introduce herself to Jamison earlier, and that even if she wanted to, Hana tore up her only way of doing so. Knowing Hana, she will keep by her word and will end up banning those Junkers for her own sake. And they didn’t even do anything wrong. Great.

All Angela can do is sulk and let her loneliness soak in. She slips off her uniform and throws it over the railing while keeping note of doing laundry in the morning. She lazily puts on her glasses after changing into her loungewear and walks over to her desk, cracking open her books and notepads. She has class in the afternoon and work again tomorrow night, so she wants to get as much work done as possible in the time that her fatigue allows her to. She scribbled hundreds of notecards in vocabulary terms of this new chapter in biology, and it was challenging to say the least. She was hoping Mei could make a study group with her so they could help each other out, and maybe it would be nice to rant to someone new about her hopeless crush and Hana’s selfish act. Just as she starts dozing off thinking of how she could set up this outing with Mei, her phone starts ringing. Angela quickly fumbles her hands and answers the phone.

“H-hello?” Angela whispers.

“Oi, Angie! How’s it goin’?”

Christ, it was Lena. She wasn’t expecting her to call so late… then again, Lena is 16 hours ahead where Angela is, so perhaps it’s not totally inconvenient.

“Lena? Oh, hello! How are you?” Angela slurs out. Her fatigue is really kicking her ass now.

“Oh, I’m doin’ quite well. Emily says hi! Why are you up so late? Does Jack still have a stick up his ass? Also, I think I found some cool souvenirs for you! Oh! And there’s this new-”

Lena keeps rambling and Angela lets the excited girl run her mouth. She hasn’t seen Lena in a few months, so it’s refreshing to hear her sweet and pitched voice. Her excitement is enough to shine on Angela’s cloudy day and pull her out of her misery. Angela just mmhms and ahhs at Lena’s chattering, and once they say their goodbyes, she holds the phone in her hand, staring at where the dial tone exited. Although she loves Lena with all her heart, a small part of her wishes that Jamison was the one chattering to her. She wished that Jamison was the one asking about her day and if she was okay. She’s not sure why, but she wishes she had a new voice to talk to her in the way Angela talked with everyone else.

Fatigue gets the best of her and decides to call it night. Angela closes her books and stashes her notes away in her binder before writing a reminder on a sticky note.

_**Mei- Study Group** _

She tears off her glasses and knocks out cold on the bed, fast asleep. Once the morning comes, she slips on some lightly washed capris and a tucked in blue flannel with her hair tied into a braid. She throws her book bag over her shoulder and quickly stuffs her laundry in the washer downstairs and leaves after only consuming a bit of crispy buttered toast and warm vanilla coffee. She drives to her university and walks to class, reviewing her notecards and mumbling to herself the string of words sprawled on the bits of paper while quickly flipping through them. She stops when someone stands in front of her path, not even budging a little bit for her. She looks up with annoyance to the inconvenience presented to her so damn early in the morning, and Angela only becomes angrier at the sight of who it is- Jesse fucking McCree.

She just wants to yell for him to get out of the way and that he should go on and ask another chick to bang him already, but instead her sleepiness creeps up on her words and the slander catches in her mouth. He smirks down at her, cigarette in his mouth, unkempt beard and hair, all while wearing probably the most delicious shirt she has ever seen him wear with the tightest blue jeans with a pair of scuffed boots. Unfortunately, she couldn’t care about how nice he looks right now. She’s tremendously annoyed with his presence and steps back, making sure there’s an arm’s length of space between the two. She grips her books tighter to her chest.

“Good morning, Jesse,” she spurts out.

“Good morning to you too, darlin’.”

He says it with so much god damn confidence and it was almost sultry to hear such a sweet word escape his mouth. The moment of his greeting is then choked up by the amount of thick smoke airing out, and Angela waves her hand in front of her face while dramatically coughing, just so she lets McCree know how much of an annoyance this is.

“You do know there’s no smoking on campus, right?”

“Well, that’s just no fun, Angie. Give a guy a break, will ya?”

He takes another drag and offers Angela one, but she quickly denies and walks past him. It doesn’t help she’s already beyond tired, and with cupid hitting her right in the ass, even McCree is becoming slightly attractive and it’s truly repulsive. She sincerely hates hormones, and they’re even worse to study.

She sits in class for the next few hours, soaking up as much information as she can and meeting Mei in the hallway. She asks to make a study group in the upcoming weeks to help catch up on this horrendous subject and Mei gladly agrees. Angela, almost skipping, runs to her car to finish her laundry at home and lazily throws her books in the passenger seat. She drives home and changes quickly after drying and ironing her uniform. She’s able to sit down at the island in her kitchen and have a small chicken sandwich and another cup of coffee, preparing for the long night ahead. Before she leaves, she quickly scribbles the day and time of the study date she will be having with Mei, relieved it will only be a week or so of waiting before she will spill her feelings on the stresses of her unfortunate day. She comes to work a little sluggish, but glad to see no sign of Hana today. Thankfully it’s her day off.

She goes on with her usual day, greeting and serving customers, turning down the regular preps that try ringing her number out of her. She’s able to catch a lunch break in between the dinner rush, and nearly chokes on her food when she sees the two Junkers approach from the parking lot. The larger one is still wearing that terrifying mask, but has a matching leather jacket with the blondie. Jamison sports tight, ripped jeans and a white tee, with a pair of shiny combat boots. Angela loves it and her eyes grow hungry as she looks all over him. They slowly walk past her, not saying a word, and chills go down Angela’s spine in a quick shock. Their vibe is definitely different from yesterday with much more intimidation following behind both of them. Angela also can’t help but be surprised at their arrival. She’s never seen them come in until last night; and they’re already coming back today around the same time. It’s a nice thought that tugs at her heart to think that, perhaps, he came back for her.

Angela didn’t see if Jamison made eye contacts through his shades, but she slightly hopes that he had tunnel vision while walking past her. Perhaps she can surprise Jamison by taking his order and striking up a conversation, so he can leave her his number again. The light of the large sign above her buzzes and she deeply thinks of how to approach this opportunity. She quickly gathers her unfinished food and runs to the backroom. She throws the leftovers down on the bench and looks into the mirror of her locker, adjusting her glasses and uniform. She lets her hair loose from its braid, the golden curls falling softly around her shoulders. She puffs the swirled ends gently and smiles at herself, admiring her beauty for the first time. She was wearing a sweet red lip color and with a deep pink blusher on her cheeks. Angela was thanking herself for gussying up on a whim. Since she feels so confident, she decides that she will introduce herself to Jamison properly tonight, and all while looking better than ever.

Angela slowly walks out of the room and jogs through the kitchen to reach the front counter. She gasps after a hand touches her shoulder and turns around to come face to face with Jack. Angela’s throat shuts and she smiles sweetly at the old man. His face doesn’t shake its anger away, despite being presented with her beautiful smile.

“Your, uh, hair’s down,” he says with concern. The anger on his face makes Angela squirm.

“Uh,” Angela looks quickly side to side, hoping to see Hana or someone to take her away from this encounter. “...It is.”

He takes his hand off her shoulder and clears his throat, the awkwardness of the conversation growing rapidly. Angela starts to shift away slowly but Jacks put his hand up to catch her attention.

“Oh! It’s… It’s nice. You look very nice. And, uh, thank you for... for doing your job well.”

Angela is taken back by this, not sure if she’s dreaming or if perhaps Jack is finally going senile. She shifts back farther away and sputters out a ‘thanks’ before rushing away to a customer waiting at the front counter. She peers around the restaurant, searching for the Junkers, but’s no sight of them.

 _Damn_ , she thought, _am I really this worried?_

After going through about an hour or so of her shift, she investigates each part of the diner, hoping for them to be hiding in some booth she rarely goes by. After searching for 10 minutes, back and forth, under and over, Angela realizes that they were most likely kicked out from wherever they sat and left while she took the time to make herself look presentable for them. She winces from the sheer disappointment she feels from this, from missing her second chance at romance. She grasps her stomach from the anxiety that filled her guts, knowing that those Junkers got the hint and will never come back here, to this shitty diner. She felt the need to beg Jack to let them come back, to not refuse them just because Hana said so. But she also just wanted a break- for someone to not interfere with her life or how she felt about things. Being a part of the Preps made her feel like people actually truly liked her and didn’t just want to take advantage of her, but it wasn’t like that and it never was. Since moving here from Switzerland, she’s been always teased and pushed around from how nice she treats everyone. She’s so full of empathy that it gets her into a mass amount of issues, ‘friends’ treating her unfairly and burdening her with their problems. She wouldn’t have the confidence to yell at Hana for tearing up Jamison’s note even after living through 100 life times.

But the Preps only really like the idea of her- the idea of Angela being a perfect woman, lacking baggage, with great looks, a sex drive, and a decent grasp on life to go with it. She hates that she attracts such a snobby crowd. She wants people that like her past her appearance and successes. McCree only likes her because Angela developed quickly when they were in middle school. Everyone else followed Jesse’s footsteps and only checked her out like a beast sizing up his next meal. She feels more disgusted in this moment than ever before, because she realizes that Jamison was probably just doing the same thing. That he really was just checking her out to ravage her innocence. She wants something different from horndog McCree, from those Preps that only bothered to invite her to any outings just for sex at the end of the night, but she was all wrong in assuming Jamison was that kind of guy. That’s probably why he didn’t even acknowledge her when he walked by. Hana really _was_ just looking out for her.

All Angela can do was run outside through the door for some cold air now that these have blanketed her. She feels like her world is coming down. She knows it’s ridiculous and dramatic, but it always seems like whenever something potentially good comes along, it fucks Angela over each and every time. Like meeting Lena, they were best friends and planned to live together during their young adult years. Yet, Lena is never around anymore. Neither is Genji, and he barely speaks enough English to truly bond with Angela. They haven’t spoken for half a year. Her home life following her through the years, her disadvantages being a segway for people to hurt her. All she wants in this moment of sorrow is a nice hot bath, coffee, and a good cry. Angela instead just sits at the nearest table and can’t stop her tears from flowing out. She cries into her hands as quietly as she can while people drove slowly through the drive-thru.

Her self doubt and stress isn’t even fully wrung out before someone comes to the table. They sit down next to her and smell strongly of ash and gasoline. Angela turns her head and slowly looks up through her tears, nearly slipping off the bench. Jamison puts his hands up defensively, but she just scoots away while keeping eye contact. Jamison lowers his hands and sighs. He looks towards her across the seat and scratches his head. She notices that he has a metallic arm and it shines brightly with the sun beaming off of it.

“Hey, sorry for scarin’ ya there, but I was gonna ask if you were alright,” he says, smiling confidently.

All Angela can manage is a frozen look of concern and distress. She thought they already left after being so rudely kicked out, but she eyes the parking lot and sees a rusted, light blue truck just across the bench from where they’re sitting. The big lug of a man who usually accompanies Jamison is sitting in the passenger seat with his arms crossed. Angela assumes they’ve been waiting here ever since they’ve gotten the boot and she finds an incredible amount of endearment in it. Perhaps the pair were waiting for Jack to come out after the diner closed so they can apologize and try to work around things. Her scorn lifted slightly as Jamison’s smile softens and he rubs the back of his neck, trying his best to avoid eye contact.

“I-I mean, ya don’t gotta tell me what’s up, and I can leave ya be. But I did wanna ask ya somethin’, either way,” Jamison mutters, visibly turning red.

Angela lowers her head and swallows. He’s expecting him to ask for a night out or something, to get something out of her like people usually do. She’s glad she made herself look like a mess so he’ll be turned off at the idea of trying to get in her pants. She crosses her legs and keeps her hands on her thighs. She lightly taps her fingers, nervous for the confirmation about Jamison’s true intentions. She takes in a breath and exhales, “What is it?”

Jamison shoots straight up, exaggerating his height compared to Angela’s. He nervously chuckles and looks up above to the buzzing neon sign sitting on the pole.

“Ah, well, I was gonna ask ya if ya got me number? From last night?” he flashes her another smile, his expression straining more than before.

The butterflies in her stomach grow into a hurricane. She blushes and her hands stop tapping to clutch her skirt instead, as she processes the fact that Jamison did leave his number for her. That he was willing to wait for four hours to talk to her. She smiles and can’t help but cough out a laugh. Jamison frowns and flips up the collar of his jacket.

“Wh-what are ya laughin’ at?” he asks while slowly lowering himself from his posture.

“Well,” Angela smiles, “I thought you left your number for some other silly waitress.”

Jamison’s eyes widen and he cackles, his features sharpening in the setting sun. Angela can’t help staring at his beautiful attributes. She still had a tug at her stomach, though, knowing this doesn’t exactly confirm his intentions aren’t of an animal’s. She wants to enjoy the moment, though, and Jamison looks ecstatic from figuring out Angela didn’t ignore his attempt. He stops laughing and clears his throat, looking back at her. He smirks, further deepening the arrow cupid bestowed upon her. Angela parts her lips to speak but nothing comes out. Jamison slowly stands up and looks towards his truck, rubbing the back of his head with the robotic arm.

“Well, hey, I’ll give it to you again if ya like. I ain’t gonna try to push ya, though,” he shrugged.

Angela stands up as well and straightens her uniform, still attempting to look presentable even after soaking all her makeup off with tears. She wipes her eyes and puts her hands behind her back while looking down at the floor. Angela blushes and Jamison makes a tch noise, apparently embarrassed that Angela isn’t going to flat out reject him. She manages to make eye contact through her lowered glasses, smiling and pushing her hair back behind her ears.

“I’d love that.”

Angela smiles so sweetly and Jamison nearly chokes. "W-wow, really?" he stutters. Angela silently hands him her notepad and pencil from her hip and he quickly scribbles down his number, leaving the same smiley face with a couple hearts on the paper, too. She closes the notepad while locking eyes with the tall blonde. He claps to break the tension and quickly says goodbye while Angela returns the farewell. He started walking away when he suddenly turned back around as Angela was about to make her leave as well. Her eyes sparkle at him and she shook a little, waiting impatiently for his words. He stuffs his hands in his jeans and crosses one foot over the other while looking down.

“Your hair looks, uh, real nice there,” he says, running his pale hand through his hair, trying to tidy his own up.

She sighs and grins. “Thank you. Yours does too.”

Jamison laughs and shoots her a quick thumbs up. He runs back to the truck and slams the door after swiftly climbing in. He slams his head against the wheel and mumbles to the man next to him, something Angela can’t make out. She turns back to go into the diner and makes sure she keeps his little note hidden this time.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one is a bit longer than the last. tried setting up a leeway for a junky chapter next. hope ya enjoyed it! <3
> 
> also yes it is a little all over the place, it's really awkward setting everything up. so i hope it isn't too confusing


	3. Confusion

Junkrat shakily turns the key of his rickety truck in the ignition. As the engine pops, it makes the trembling Aussie shudder even more. He keeps banging his head gently against the wheel, filling the truck with his feeling of disbelief. He slowly eyes up above the dash and watches Angela sashay back into the diner, gentle and angelic in her walk. Junkrat can’t help but sigh once more at the sight of the beautiful blonde as she disappears behind the rusted doors he was sadly kicked out of. Junkrat slowly shifts his attention to the enormous man next to him and laughs in an attempt to break the tension. He clears his throat after the lug didn’t even flinch at the sudden sound and Junkrat shifts in the car seat, letting the engine continue to run and pop.

“Oi, she let me give her my number!” he says in an upbeat tone.

The large man still doesn’t show a smidgen of a reaction. Junkrat decides to speak louder, repeating his statement. Nothing. Junkrat groans and rolls his eyes, punching the hog’s stiff arm.

“What’s up with ya? I thought you were excited for me,” he jokingly asks and chuckles.

Roadhog faces the blonde and huffs. “I’m still hungry,” he grunts.

Junkrat can’t believe that this guy’s brain is in his stomach after all the great things that unravelled in front of his eyes. Junkrat shifts the gears of the truck and backs out of the parking lot, quickly driving onto the highway to find a food joint that hasn’t kicked them out yet. Hopefully luck will stay by their side for the rest of the night- home doesn’t have much to come back to.

The pair manage to find an old taco shop off the edge of town and order a huge party pack just for the two of them. Junkrat knows Roadhog is going to shovel at least 12 tacos in a matter of minutes, so it won’t hurt to have at least 20 for them to split. As the duo crunch away at their value meal, Junkrat feels a tight knot in his stomach. He’s sure it isn’t from the gluttonous gorging of the large meal, but something creeping up on him. It is definitely his anxiety catching him by surprise. He feels a cold sweat drip down his forehead and he stops eating, causing Roadhog to turn the attention from his meal to Junkrat’s reddening face. The larger man puts his hands down from his messy face and leans back.

“What’s wrong?” he asks with a pitch of worry.

Junkrat grabs his stomach and glances at the large man sitting closely next to him. The lack of space causes Junkrat’s face to heighten in temperature and he hastily rolls down the window with the handle placed near his arm in an attempt to cool down. Junkrat huffs in a big breath and hitches when he still feels the nausea quickly growing in his stomach. He isn’t sure if it’s from excitement or fear, but it’s making him incredibly uncomfortable regardless.

Junkrat throws his food off to the side and exits his truck, slamming down the opening of the rear bed and sitting upon the lowered shelf. He kicks his legs like a small child on a swing set, trying to curve his attention away from the rapid butterflies furiously flying around in his gut. He quickly brings his shoulders up when Roadhog drags himself to the back of the truck as well, setting his heavy body aside the Aussie. Junkrat can only muster out an annoyed sigh, staring at the darkened sky and glistening stars. Roadhog jolts Junkrat’s attention to his presence when he slaps him gently on the back.

“What’s wrong, Junk?”

Concern is not hidden from his voice. Junkrat slouches and looks down, glaring at his now dusty boots. He sighs once more, hoping the words can string themselves together without his effort. He grips the bed’s opening, and shamefully admits his defeat.

“I’m just… nervous ‘bout that girl back at the diner, ya know?”

Junkrat laughs at his own misery, trying his best to lighten his own mood. Roadhog grips his shoulder, finally tying the knot in Junkrat’s stomach.

“Hey,” he gently says in his low voice.

Junkrat looks up from his feet and meets Roadhog’s eyes. The larger man seems to have softened his posture and is bursting with compassion.

“Don’t worry about it. She likes you. I can tell,” he says, assuring the Aussie, trying his best to comfort him. Before Junkrat can even ask how he could possibly tell, Roadhog boosts his volume and assurance.

“The way she looked at you. Yesterday when she served us. She likes you. Don’t worry about it.”

Junkrat smiles so wide Roadhog chuckles at the sight of his happiness. The Aussie wasn’t sure how exactly, but the lady at the diner really got him smitten in a matter of minutes. Her gorgeous and light blonde hair, her beautiful smile, her bright, blue eyes that greatly shimmered. Looking at her was almost like living in a dream. Junkrat has encountered many great looking girls in his time, but he can’t put a finger on how she’s different to him. How she was able to capture his heart even after being a nervous mess and obviously uncomfortable by his presence. Perhaps she was… natural to him. She was someone genuine. Someone that wasn’t after intimacy for the sake of feeling good for a couple hours. He believed she was someone completely different to the other girls he has met, just by her gentle smiles and sweet appearance. However, reading a book by its cover can only get you so far.

Junkrat slides off the bed and closes the rear of his truck shut. The duo climb back into their truck to finish their dinner, which unfortunately grew cold in the time they spent outside. Junkrat couldn’t care less, though. He’s filled with excitement for the phone call that will hopefully happen sometime soon. Roadhog blasts the radio with swinging tunes and the both of them sing out into the night until they decide to go back home. They both dread this, but it’s no good sleeping in a car out in their town. The mood quickly dampens into gloom, and Junkrat drives the two back home as slow as possible to stall the inevitable melancholy waiting back at their ramshackled house.

*******

Back at the diner, Angela’s shift flies by as the busiest night of the week hits them like a train. She curses to herself without Hana here to help, but the stress doesn’t overcome her just yet. She continues to hastily clean tables and seat people, making sure not to trip along the aisles as children run around like wild animals. Angela luckily manages to not spill a single drink or mess up any orders, and feels incredibly proud of herself. She has full composure until she sees the most "wonderful" group of people approach quickly through the doors, snickering to themselves as they catch wind of Angela’s presence. It was McCree, Amélie, and Olivia, covered in their usual smug attitudes. Angela puts her hands on her hips and scoffs when McCree is the one to approach her.

“What do you want? We’re obviously busy here,” she snarls.

“Woah, just hang on a minute there, sweetheart.” Jesse hastily puts his hands up as the girls behind him continue to snicker. “We ain’t here to do harm to ya. Just want some food for the night.”

Angela rolls her eyes and quickly seats them, jotting their desired drinks down in the most unpleasant manner. She stomps back behind the counter and deals with the orders needing to be sent out. During her trips around the diner, she catches McCree eyeing her up and down, his legs spread out and hands clasped behind his head. There isn’t an ounce of shame in his absurd behavior. Angela is so fed up with people following him like a flock of sheep. If only they saw how much of a pig he acted like, she was sure they’d abandon having affiliation with him.

When the trio’s round of drinks are ready to be taken, Angela hesitantly walks over. She’s never been fond of Amélie, always being so cold-blooded towards everyone with not a bit of emotion or remorse in her rudeness. She’s almost like a black widow to Angela, and coincidentally, she absolutely hates spiders. Olivia is no better either, she is such a punk and a bully, able to pick people’s lockers during passing period in high school and stealing their personal belongings to sell to others. She also messes with the phone lines too somehow, listens in on people’s private conversations only to gossip about it a day later. They are all jerks, and they all _definitely_ deserve each other.

Angela places the individual drinks down for each person at the table, avoiding eye contact the best she possibly can. She continues to look around at anything but the cold stares right in front of her while taking orders. As she starts to walk away, McCree gently grabs Angela’s arm, causing her to gasp. She glares at him with a shivering look, but he keeps his cool regardless. He gently holds her hand in his callused palm and rubs his thumb over her knuckles. She wants to rip away from his gentle grip and spit on his scruffy face, but she could feel cupid’s arrow deepening further in her heart. Maybe she could give McCree a chance. Just maybe, though.

“Hey, Angie,” a soothing tone escapes his lips, accompanying his growling voice, making Angela shiver and clutch the notebook in her other hand. “I was thinking you should come to the kickback at Gabe’s this weekend. We’re all dying to see you there, y’know.”

Angela widens her eyes and quickly glances at the females next to her, seeing their eager faces awaiting her answer. She can’t bring herself to say no, with her being so desperate for touch and affection, and McCree’s gentle grip on her hands made her victim to his charm.

“Well, I… I guess I could come,” she stutters, instantly regretting her acceptance to the invitation.

She’s never gone to a Prep party before, and it’s definitely not something she can prepare for. She just needs to stay on guard and avoid as many people as possible. She slowly removes her hand from McCree’s grasp and walks away, hearing the ladies at the booth behind her snicker once more, causing humiliation to drown Angela. Her nervousness and shyness never won her many friends among the girl groups around town. They always thought Angela was doing it for attention and not because she’s actually just not the confident person everyone thinks she is. She shakes off their laughter and carries on with her shift. She knows Junkers aren’t allowed to go to Prep parties, but maybe just this once, she would be eager to see them crash this one.

As the night continues to drag its feet along, Angela manages to earn $80 in tips and didn’t have to bid farewell to McCree and his friends. She wipes her forehead of the lingering sweat and breezes along in closing up for the night. Jack walks out of the kitchen to say good night to everyone and stops Angela before she could leave. He rubs the back of his neck and stutters his words.

“Hey, Angela, great… great job today. Lady. Great job.”

Angela manages a smile at his gratitude. She isn’t sure why he has been so nice for the past couple days. She nods and starts to race out the door, but Jack asks for her to wait. Angela looks back at him, concerned if something bad happened at home.

“Sorry, I guess Hana said I’ve been mean… to everyone, lately. So I’m, uh, trying to be a better dad. Er- boss.” He smiles a crooked grin, and Angela just laughs at the fact this was all just an attempt to make everyone feel less intimidated by him. She salutes him off as he waves and she hastily drives back to her house, throwing herself on the couch once she pushes through the front door. Angela has no energy to call Jamison tonight after McCree’s stupid stunt of asking her out. She feels a pinch of guilt in her stomach, but perhaps it’s better to go for someone who doesn’t have “delinquent” written all over their face.

She reaches into her apron and pulls out the note, peering over the line of numbers and the sloppy hearts covering the page. Angela blushes again, thinking about their encounter and his genuine concern for her. She pins the note above her desk next to the reminder of Mei’s study group and runs herself a warm bath. She gently undresses and dips her body slowly into the steaming water. Angela sighs at the raging emotions storming inside her, confused on why after all this time, McCree starts to seem desirable now. Meeting Jamison was great and all, but her heart is nothing but confused. She’s not sure who to put time in for, and ditching the party this weekend would deepen her embarrassment and cause people to think poorly of her for flaking out. The little date might even help determine who she has the hots for, so what harm is there in exploring a bit?

Angela sighs and lowers deeper into the water, lathering her soft, pale skin in the concoction she mixed into the bath. Her thoughts escape her and she is fully basking in peace of mind and warmth, hope lingering in her heart to find the solution to this mess soon.

*******

Junkrat pulls into the cracked driveway of his home and turns off the ignition. He stares at the cold house and slowly pulls himself out of the truck. Roadhog follows him and makes sure to lock each door before entering their home. Inside their fort was the definition of shabby. Peeling wallpaper, torn couches, broken windows covered in wooden planks, and stained, discolored carpet. It isn’t exciting, happy, or fun like it is when they go out driving. They are both very poor and their means of escaping this daily reminder lied in the middle of town. Junkers like them were what swarmed this neighborhood, so it wasn’t a special experience they had within these torn walls. Everyone in and around these parts is anything but well off. There isn’t any motivation in their stealing and harm except to show people how privileged they are in their simple lives, and that maybe the Junkers deserve a bit of the fortune, too.

Junkrat lugs himself over to his bed, which is a simple mattress in the corner of the room, covered in a large, thick blanket and a few unfluffed pillows. He removes his prosthetics, placing them gently next to his bed. He climbs under the covers and sighs, dreaming of better places to be. Roadhog sleeps on the couch, for security purposes in the event someone comes to break in. His massive presence and body are enough to scare anybody away.

Junkrat tosses and turns, shuffling in his cold sheets, trying his best to fall asleep while moonlight dimly shone through the thin curtains above his bed. He can’t stop thinking of the waitress, the beautiful blondie who didn’t show aggression like everyone else did when he walked into the diner. How she can perhaps put his life on track, change him for the better, to help him and comfort him. He yearns for her touch and to talk once more. The Aussie closes his eyes and dreams of the telephone call he’s been eagerly awaiting. He plays the ring of the device over in his head, repeating it and it becomes louder and louder. Then it starts becoming annoying, almost like it won’t stop. He squints harder to make the ringing stop, but shoots up at the sound of Roadhog banging on the wall.

 ** _“PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE, RAT,”_**   he rasps.

Junkrat shivers at his anger and puts on his leg prosthetic to head over to the ringing phone inside the kitchen. He picks it up, excited to hear a sweet, heavenly voice on the other end, but is presented with Torbjörn instead. He likes the little guy, but he always calls at asinine hours of the night. Junkrat scratches his head and rubs his eyes, grunting out a sound instead of greeting him. Please let’s just get this lecture over with.

“Aye, lad! It’s Torbjörn,” the older man chimes over the line, “Can ya come in tomorrow at 7? Mornin’, I mean.”

Junkrat pinches the bridge of his nose, completely aware that Torbjörn is also aware that Jamison, by every degree, is not a morning person. He groans so loud Roadhog demands he shut his mouth before he shuts it up for him. Junkrat swallows nervously and agrees to the absolute hell he’ll be facing in the car shop tomorrow. He loves getting his hands dirty, but he thinks Reinhardt and Torbjörn love to make sure he has not a bit of fun in his days working.

Junkrat has only worked here for a few months, but it was in return for Torbjörn building him new prosthetics- pure titanium ones that were brand new and custom made, with not a single bit of rust on them. He was never getting paid during his times tinkering and fixing the numerous cars that came through, but the new additions to his body were good enough for Junkrat. No more slight limp from the uneven leg, or a massive weight pulling him down by the robotic arm, it was something professional and polished. He was incredibly happy when the dwarf accepted his request. Plus, he could wear both pairs of shoes with his new leg, which he secretly adored.

Junkrat returns to bed and rubs his burning eyes, tearing a little when yawning. He sets his alarm for 6 A.M. to get a head start at the shop and falls onto his back, the covers softly catching him. He hums to himself for a bit before falling into a deep sleep, reflecting back on the eventful day he had with his best buddy. The stress of the oncoming morning takes over his dreams, and Junkrat softly curls into a ball, surrounded by his delicate blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> waitin on this one for a bit, introduced some new guys <3 hope ya like it


	4. Intrusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this took so long to update! ive recently got a job and got sick just last night so im gonna try trucking through some chapters to make up for my lack of work. <3

The alarm clock set next to Junkrat’s mattress shakes uncontrollably, the bells on the object ringing quick and loud. The fatigued blonde lazily slips his finger to the back to switch off the intrusion. He swings onto his back and slowly blinks his tired eyes to soak in the earliness of the morning. The sun was just starting to rise and beams of light creeped through the silky curtains which flutter from the cracked window. Junkrat slowly pushed himself up with his elbow and went to grab his prosthetics. After adjusting them on and gently stretching, he makes his way to the kitchen and made sure to be as quiet as possible to not wake the beast in the other room down the hall. Junkrat prepares himself a bowl of cereal and pours the last of the milk, which only fills to about a quarter of the way. He exasperates and chews away at the dry meal and carefully observes the room around him. The stove has significant rust surrounding the burners from the many years of usage and there was a preposterous amount of dishes filling the sink in both basins. The kitchen was barely completed in its time of construction, so tiles were missing or broken all over the dusty floor. This area of living is yet another project for Junkrat and Roadhog to work on.

After finishing a tall glass of orange juice, Junkrat fixes himself up quickly in the bathroom which was equally incomplete. They were lucky the plumbing and water even works, as the walls were never painted properly and the floor tile was also in shambles. The two barely have time or energy to complete their house, both working from early hours to late nights. The times they have off are dedicated to driving out in town and having fun to keep their lives as upbeat as possible. Roadhog was quite furious that Junkrat begged for new prosthetics in exchange for labor with no pay, but the physical detriments he experienced with his old limbs were going to cripple him to the point of being unemployable, so it was for the best. The larger man has a job of his own, too, working in a junkyard to salvage parts and hating every second of it. Roadhog’s pay is little to none in comparison to what they really needed for a substantial income, but you get what you deserve.

Junkrat quickly went out into the living room to check on Roadhog, who was fast asleep and looking peaceful with a thick blanket draping over his large gut. He has a shift starting at 9 in the morning, so the Aussie tries not to disturb what little rest he has left to experience. Before leaving, he makes sure to have a knife in his back pocket in case he is stopped on the way home late tonight. Junkrat and Roadhog alter between using the truck depending who leaves the house last. It’s the blonde’s turn to walk home tonight, and he always makes sure to be on guard and vigilant for the potential danger that may arise. Although they know everyone in their neighborhood, it doesn’t exactly indicate safety for them.

It’s unfortunately a long walk to his work, passing by numerous large houses and gated areas, ones he wishes he could live in one day. Junkrat’s shifts typically start around high noon, so he’s preparing himself to do inventory and deep cleaning of the shop. He is basically Torbjörn’s maid at this point, as denying the dwarf’s silly chores would only result in something really bad, and the poor guy already has enough on his plate. The walk to town takes at least half an hour, and Junkrat spends the time daydreaming while listening to the trees rustle and the birds humming their cheerful morning tunes. He hopes the waitress calls late tonight after her shift so they can finally chat over the phone. Excitement bursts in the Aussie’s stomach once more at the idea of this long awaited phone call and he can’t help but skip along the path in the last few minutes of his walk. He stops in front of the massive garage doors that are connected to the right of a small building. The lot is separate from the other buildings in the middle of town, in a corner to avoid commotion in the parking lot. Junkrat takes one last deep breath before knocking onto the massive metal doors which bang and echo from his bony knuckles. _Here we go_.

The doors slowly creak and Junkrat covers his ears from the screeching noise bellowing from the entrance that was slowly raising. Junkrat lowers a bit to come inside and discerns Reinhardt to be the one gripping the chains and powerfully pulling them to welcome the Junker inside. He roars a laugh and greets the smaller man with a powerful hit on his slouching back, shooting Junkrat up to his full height to tower about a foot below the giant. His frightening height honestly scares the shit out of Junkrat, despite his obvious old age and kindness. Reinhardt lets go of the rusty chains and the massive metal doors slide down quickly and slams with the worst clang sound to ever be heard and the Aussie jumps in return. Reinhardt just laughs again at the pitiful fellow beside him and puts his burly arm around Junkrat’s heightened shoulders, teasing him with his thundering voice.

The smaller man is unable to answer back with his usual energy, as his lack of sleep and heavy eyes drags him further and further away from the ability to conversate properly. The only thought that runs through Junkrat’s head is to get through the day as quickly as possible so he can fuck right off onto his pathetic little cot and melt into a deep sleep. The day is taking its baby steps and Junkrat is already exhausted at the labor in store for him whilst he looks upon the filthy shop. Many rusted metal tools are scattered on shelves and the oil stained floor beneath him, as well as unopened boxes of new, unscathed items pile upon another endlessly. Junkrat turns at the sudden sound of a door swinging open, hitting itself against the wall, and looks upon Torbjörn carrying more boxes in his small, husky arms.

“Oy, lad! Glad ya made it!” the dwarf huffs out while slowly waddling over to the two towering men near the entrance.

“Uh- yeah, sure, no problem, mate,” Junkrat nervously scratches the back of his head as he watches his boss drop the boxes onto the floor.

Torbjörn glances at the shiny arm all while looking proud of his work. He grins and walks up to examine the metal limb closely and chuckles out small laughs at the small scratches and obvious wearing down of the appendage.

  
“Is the arm workin’ well for ya?” Torbjörn gently asks.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely no problem with her. It’s as fit as a fiddle.”

  
Torbjörn continues to look upon his arm and Junkrat can’t help the rapidly increasing sense of nervousness. He knows he hasn’t taken great care of the arm as he was instructed to do so a while back, but it shouldn’t be a problem, right? He clears his throat and tries to pry his arm away.

“Ah- sorry. Just thinkin’ that it looks a little out of shape. I can take a look at it tonight and fix it up, so it doesn’t spaz out on ya,” the dwarf finally replies.

  
Junkrat nods quickly and agrees to the offer, sort of excited to have his new arm be further improved at the hands of the master he so generously got it from. They go on with their day and sort through piles of inventory, not once even having a curious customer come by. Endless hours of tidying leave the Junker in a greasy mess, stained with hard work and oil. He’s full of relief at Torbjörn’s dismissal, and the Aussie unhinges his arm for the man to work on for the night. He’s a little nervous knowing he’ll be one arm short in a possible skirmish he may encounter on the walk home, but he happily says his goodbyes despite that and hunches beneath the metal doors Reinhardt lifts for him. As he walks down the street out of town into the wealthier neighborhoods he passed earlier, he spots a large arrangement of bright lights and music. His curiosity escorts him hesitantly to the cacophony.

  
The noises are thankfully coming from a house near the edge of the concrete fence so Junkrat can easily peer over with his full height and make out what seems to be a little party. It has all the great qualities of young college parties- pot, booze, music, and girls. Junkrat snickers to himself and thinks about getting Roadhog and some other punks to help crash it. They couldn’t afford great stuff like what the host has here, but the thought quickly shatters when he peers upon someone very familiar to him. Someone who was very attractive, tall, and blonde. The Junker’s jaw drops at the sight of the waitress being here, and what makes it shocking to him, is the arm casually wrapping itself around her shoulders.

  
Junkrat rubs his eyes and looks again to see if his eyes were perhaps playing tricks on him, but no, it really was his maiden. He feels the urge to run home and get a little gang together to really wreck this party now, but his anger quickly rushes over him and he tries his best to vault over the fence with his remaining arm. The adrenaline pumping through him successfully pushes him over the wall and he lands without causing any real attention. Everyone was at the point of either being high out of their minds or totally pissed, so Junkrat casually leans himself against the wall, stuffing his hand in his jean pocket with a furious look smothering his dirty face. He takes the time to observe the waitress, she was wearing high-waisted jeans while sporting a polka dot halter top complete with ruby red heels. She obviously took time to pretty herself up, as her hair was up and curly, making sure to show her blood red lip color and daring eyeliner. Junkrat doesn’t recognize the man escorting her, so the idea of maybe introducing himself shoots through his head and causes his legs to start stomping over to the couple.

  
Once Junkrat is right behind the two of them, he clears his throat and immediately stops the conversation they were having. They turn around and Angela crinkles her red cup in shock as her eyes lock with his burning ones, asking her with his leer who this asshole was and why was she here? They are definitely no item, but it is beyond unfair to lead someone on like this! Angela swallows loudly and shoots a couple looks over to McCree, whose face was written with disgust upon looking at the Junker. He scoffs a laugh at Junkrat’s obvious grime and plugs his nose to exaggerate his uncleanliness.

  
“Hey, asshole, this ain’t no fuckin’ pigpen. Why don’t ya go on home and roll in your mud, you one armed freak?” McCree’s jab causes many people around them to roar with laughter, but Junkrat doesn’t show any sign of embarrassment. He actually straightens his back to show his lack of a fuck about McCree’s mingy words, towering 4 inches above the man, intimidating the couple enough for them to hunch down a little in return to his immense appearance. Junkrat puts his arm on his hip and keep his eyes on McCree as he speaks daring words.

  
“Well, personally mate, I’d love to, ta, but I can’t go on back to my shithole until I find out why this lovely little lady is with a scumbag like you?”

  
This retaliation causes many of the partygoers to go ooh, and McCree can’t think quickly enough to give a witty comeback before Angela steps closer to Junkrat, removing herself from McCree’s grip around her shoulders and scowling at the tall blonde man. She gently sets her drink down and crosses her arms, and under her intimidating presence, Junkrat softens his shoulders a little and gives her a gentle look.

  
“Well, why are YOU here? Did anyone invite you? And who gave you the right to talk to my friends like that?”

  
Her response sends cold daggers through Junkrat and his face was dripping with sadness and guilt. The surrounding onlookers observe the immense awkwardness and tension unravelling in front of them in silence, and before Angela can speak another word, the host slides open the glass doors of his house to quickly intervene.

  
“Alright, alright, what the fuck is going on?” Gabriel hollers to the crowd, and everyone seems to back down except for the trio, making note to Gabriel the source of the issue. He steps closer to them and places his hands on his hips as his face molds into anger.

  
“Look, buddy, I certainly didn’t fucking invite any Junkers to this party. And you’re making it to be a shit show and it’s pissing me off, alright? Get out of here before I make you beg me to leave.”

  
Junkrat begins to slowly walk towards the gate in defeat after shooting Angela a disappointed and angry look. He didn't want to cause anymore trouble, he was one arm less in a fight that may stir up from his presence, but nonetheless he makes sure to pull one last jab out before departing.

“You’re all the fuckin’ same, aren’t ya?” He growls out towards the crowd. “And you- you’re no different from all the bloody girls I’ve met, either.”

  
Angela drops her arms and clenches her fists. Junkrat bursts out of the gate and makes his way out of the neighborhood to treck onto the sorrowful route back to his shitty home. He couldn’t believe the waitress was just another lousy one night stand waiting to happen. To think she was something special makes Junkrat hysterically laugh as he stomps back into the night.

  
Back at the party, McCree huffs out an uncomfortable laugh and scratches his head.

  
“Some dick, wasn’t he?” He waits for Angela to agree but all she does is stare at where the Junker angrily exited, repeating the words he said to her over in her head.

  
_Am I really just like everyone else? Like he said? He can't be serious!_

  
Her aggravation grows rapidly and she runs out of the gate as well, McCree reaching out her and yelling her name. He follows her through the gate only to find her completely gone. Angela runs towards Junkrat and pulls his shoulder to make him face her. Her face is flushed and she’s rapidly breathing, keeping her eyes locked with Junkrat’s. He goes to turn away but she grabs him once again and forces him to look at her.

  
“You didn’t mean that- you only said that because you’re pissed off,” she speaks in between breaths and tries her best to contain her composure.

  
Junkrat rolls his eyes and laughs, “Look sweetheart, I know girls just like ya, you’re no different from the broads I met before. Leadin’ me on and all with a stupid smile and accepting my number. You don’t need to pity people to be nice. Just be fuckin’ honest! Seriously- I thought you were somethin’ else the second I saw ya.”

  
Angela stops her breathing and looks down at her now scuffed shoes. She clenches her fists and looks up to him, keeping the same scowl she greeted him with earlier.

  
“Yeah? And- and I know guys just like you! Mean, attention seeking, self-proclaimed assholes who think the world should be served on a silver platter for them! I thought you were different, too! To make such bold statements- and you don’t even know my name.”

  
Silence. All they could muster was dead, blank stares and pursing their lips, trying to prepare to say something. But they couldn’t. They didn’t even know each other well enough to properly argue.

  
“I-,” Angela starts, causing Junkrat to look up from the ground. “I guess we, um, don’t really know each other, though. And we’re just saying this because- because we’re upset.”

  
He softens his look and sighs, “We haven’t even had a proper conversation yet. I wouldn’t have expected our first one to be a yellin’ contest.”

  
They both gently laugh at the banter, and Junkrat shoots out his hand towards Angela.

  
“Oi- I’m Jamison. Jamison Fawkes. My friends call me Junkrat!” He smiles a toothy grin and holds his expression, waiting for Angela to return the favor in his attempt to settle the tension.

  
“Well, I’m Angela Ziegler, it’s nice to finally meet you, Jamison.” Angela takes Jamison’s hand into her small one and firmly shakes it, finalizing their first proper introduction.

  
“What- you don’t got any cool nicknames, little miss Angela?” Jamison grins, poking more fun at the girl.

  
Angela shakes her head and laughs, “Unfortunately, I do not, unlike someone I know.”

  
They hold their hands for longer than they need to before letting go, clearing their throats and looking around. “Well, to be honest Miss Angela, I’m glad we introduced ourselves in person and not over the tele,” Jamison abruptly breaks the silence with his statement, and Angela hums in agreement and smiles. He eyes her for little while longer and remembers how Hog might be worrying as to where he might be, so he tells her quickly how he needs to start heading back. She musters a small frown and they say their goodbyes, as she also needs to go back to the party for her ride home. They walk away silently yet content, knowing maybe this awkward relationship can finally start being less complicated.


	5. Surprise

Both Angela and Jamison make it safely back to their destinations, daydreaming to the fuzzy feelings residing inside their chest. The touch of skin they just shared and the gleaming eyes making loving eye contact were enough to keep smiles plastering across the faces of the two youngins. Once Angela enters through the gate leading to Gabriel’s backyard, she looks upon a upon a mess of half empty cups and food spreading across the uncut grass. A surprising amount of kids have left the party in the amount of time she abruptly left, catching only 2 pairs of eyes when she makes her appearance. Gabriel rolls his eyes and continues on angrily picking and throwing trash into the plastic bag he's gripping while cursing under his breath. McCree slowly walks towards Angela, examining her face with his hands and looking at her arms for any sign of injury with a grimacing face of concern. Angela jerks away and gives him a baffling look, offended as to why he would be examining her in a way a doctor does to a patient.

“Wh-what are you doing?” She stutters her question and purses her lips. It was just too out of character for McCree to be so, well, endearing.

He looks up to meet her eyes and shakes his head. “What do ya fuckin’ mean? That asshole coulda killed ya, and here ya are, _runnin’_ after him! Chasing your death wish! Damn it, those people aren’t to be reckoned with and you know that. You’re a fool for doin’ that, Angie. And I’m making sure he didn’t lay a finger on ya, the bastard.”

Angela steps back slowly, softly hitting her back against the wooden door. She looks towards Gabriel, hoping he would oppose to the ridiculousness McCree was spewing in front of both of them, but he doesn’t sputter a word. He just groans in agreement and hopelessness burns inside Angela’s gut, the discomfort welcoming heat to her reddening face. She can’t help but be appalled at the accusations, for McCree to think Jamison would try to hurt her. But was this not far fetched? This is something they’re known for all over town. But she can’t shake any sensation she feels from McCree’s ignorant words. She may have only met Jamison, but him showing himself to her after obvious pain he felt from seeing her with another man, it was obvious enough to her that he has some emotion and isn’t someone filled with rage and violence. This idea wasn’t up for debate to Angela, but it also wasn’t something to put up a fight for, either. Being an outcast with the Preps wouldn’t hurt her feelings per say, but her reputation is helping her with the crowd at school and the perks she has been offered because of this certain socialization. She can’t let her emotions get in the way of her success, so she keeps quiet on the subject and decides to tell McCree to drive her home. She already has to face the music of seeing fellow classmates next week after the palooza she created from Jamison’s crashing and his unexpected confrontation. There’s going to be enough questions as it is from McCree and coworkers, so it was best to shut herself up for the night and attempt in getting rest with these racing thoughts.

 

*******

 

Jamison quietly creaks his front door open and peaks through, making sure he doesn’t see any strangers residing in any of the rooms. Once the coast was clear, he creeps inside and quietly closes the door. He catches wind of Roadhog’s presence on the coach, hearing the loud snoring and heavy breathing drowning the sound of the room. Jamison was full of relief at not needing to explain his late arrival home, so he slowly tiptoes down the hallway until he hears a loud grunt and shuffling on the couch. He assumes it’s Roadhog adjusting his position, but rattles and yelps when he’s turned around by the Hog’s massive hand and was facing his bare chest. Jamison just loudly swallows any last bit of nervousness he can muster away, and looks up at the lug with a terrible grin.

“Eh… mornin’, Hog.”

There wasn’t much else to say, Jamison’s anxiety burning his body in the inevitable ass kicking Roadhog’s about to present to him for waking him up and having a ‘no call no show’ to the house. Jamison eyes dart to a nearby clock, reading the hands the best he can in the pitch black darkness. He can only make out the hour, 3 in the goddamn morning, in shock at the fact Torbjörn let him out so fucking late, and that he was really bitchin’ and hollerin’ at Angela and the cowboy wannabe long enough for Hog to fall asleep while waiting for Jamison to come back home. _Shit_ and _Fucking great_ is the only statements running through Jamison’s head. He straightens up when Roadhog hums a low growl and shifts his head down to meet Jamison’s tired eyes.

“Rat.”

“...Mako.”

“ **Don’t** **you fucking start** ,” his statement is rumbling to Jamison’s weak body. “Where the _fuck_ is your arm?”

Jamison completely forgot Torbjorn took it in for the night to tinker with, and shame just grew around the room in the fact the one thing Jamison has been working free for, was just _gone_.

“It’s uh… back at the shop- yeah.”

Finding the right words is strenuous, with the physical exhaustion Jamison was feeling and the overwhelming intimidation Roadhog radiates, it was like pulling teeth.

“Really. Did the old bag finally kick your ass out?”

“What? No, you twit, he’s fixin’ it up. I ain’t puttin’ meself in debt and losin’ the fuckin’ reward after one g’damn day!” Jamison sneers, his sleepiness only accelerating his irritability. He lowers a bit when Roadhog hums a bellowing growl again, hoping the charley horses he’ll give will wait for tomorrow.

“Don’t give me attitude when you come home this late, waking me the fuck up, and looking like a complete idiot when doing so. You look vulnerable. _Weak_. A dead man walking. I was ready to skip town,” Roadhog’s tone was incredibly condescending and cut through his gritting teeth, but Jamison can’t deny anything he said. It’s dangerous coming home so late and especially while one limb short. Jamison makes an easy target for most people, as he’s so scrawny and is never properly prepared for any confrontation someone may greet him with. Ironic.

“M’sorry, mate. I’ll make it up to ya. Swear on it!”

Roadhog lets out a long sigh and trudges back to his couch. Jamison sees this as his opportunity to leave, thankful Roadhog is sparing him of any roughhousing he possibly had in mind. Jamison quickly creeps into his room and strips himself of his clothes to leave nothing but a pair of old checkered boxers. He feels a great amount of dirt and filth covering his face and hand, so he makes his way to the bathroom before diving into bed. The light buzzes on and flickers as he switches on the cracked lightswitch, the room dimly lit and beautifully tarnished in the state it was in. Jamison turns the squeaky handle of the rusty sink and splashes the frigid water he cups in his hand, rubbing into the soil present on his face and squeezing water from his hand to rid of the grunge under his nails and on his thin fingers. He wipes himself with the closest towel and peers into the smudged mirror, making note of the embarrassing amount of freckles covering his tanned face and reddened nose. Jamison sighs at the glimpse of his appearance and throws the towel into the sink and doing the same to himself into his bed after making way towards his bedroom once again. He rolls into the covers and becomes a cocoon of softness, sighing from the pure comfort he feels and immediately falling into a deep slumber, full of relief he can sleep in before going to work in the afternoon, and at the fact the anxieties of the waitress, _Angela Ziegler_ , can finally rest.

Jamison shoots up from his makeshift sleeping bag at the sound of Roadhog slamming the front door shut to leave for work. He peers at the alarm clock laying next to him on the floor and sighs, seeing as it’s only 10 in the morning. He figures to just get ready and leave early today so he can get his arm back as fast as possible from his boss. He repeats his usual morning routine, giddy at the fact Roadhog brought home milk last night and washed the dishes while Jamison was gone. The Aussie decides to dress into moss green shorts he had tucked away in his closet and a bright orange tank that has a green kangaroo with sunglasses riding a surfboard on it. He proudly puts on the heinous outfit, knowing his absurd color coordination is sure to shock people while walking to work. Once he ties his scruffed sneakers, he makes his way out the door while slyly putting on a pair of aviator glasses, smirking as the young newspaper boy passing by him on his daily route shoots a disgusted look at the Junker. Jamison just scoffs back at him, wondering why the kid’s damn arm has been broken for each time he has seen him.

Jamison strolls along his usual route and fills with shock when looking upon the house that was hosting the party last night completely trashed. It was TP’d and covered with splattered eggs, graffiti on the fence he climbed last night, sprawling with the words “ **JUNKER HIVE** ” in deep red letters. Jamison furrows his brows and continues to walk past the house, ignoring the shame and embarrassment filling his stomach.

Once arriving to the shop, excitement replaces his discomfort as he sees the garage doors completely open, which signals there was a car in the shop needing to be worked on. Jamison hasn’t been able to work on a vehicle in a hot minute, and sprints inside, hollering for Reinhardt and Torbjörn, but nearly tripping to a complete stop when he witnesses Angela standing near a table. She glances towards him over he shoulder and blushes when making catching Jamison's stare, turning her head away in the heat of the moment. Jamison straightens his back and scratches the back of his head, not being able to find the right words or move his body. His embarrassment flushes out whatever excitement he had left at the horrifying truth that Jamison looks like a complete tool. Of course he chose to wear an atrocious outfit while, once again, bumping into the waitress, who had coincidentally wore a beautiful, silky blue polka dress with adorable black loafers. Her hair was tied into a ponytail with a sweet white ribbon wrapping around it. She was still looking away, but Jamison was able to feel her radiating heat from embarrassment.

Jamison mouth hung open trying to coordinate a greeting. “Uh” and “Um” was all that could come out of his mouth. He doesn’t change his bewildered expression when Torbjörn makes his way into the room, scrunching his button nose at the obvious awkwardness hanging in the room. He goes over to pat Jamison’s back and greets him with a good morning. Jamison just looks down at him, his expression screaming confusion.

“Aye, good mornin’, lad! Seems ya met my-”

“ _WHAT_?”

Torbjörn just jumps back slightly at Jamison’s interruption and looks towards Angela. She turns towards them both and quickly turns her head again, looking more red and with wide eyes. Torbjörn wasn’t sure what exactly was happening between the two, but he decides to play along with it and trots over to Angela. She begins to talk to him but is quickly pushed towards Jamison, turning and touching noses to the man, and yelps at the physical contact. Torbjörn keeps his grip on her legs and straightens Angela’s back, letting go and stands next to the two. He smiles and cheerfully introduces the two, not knowing that they already met, not knowing the travesty that unraveled last night. Angela has a face of surprise when Torbjörn introduces Jamison as his employee and Jamison coughs to cover the tension of the situation. They were still standing closely in front of each other, heat of their faces blasting into the air in front of them.

“I-I didn’t know you knew my uncle, Jamison,” Angela finally speaks up and catches Jamison’s attention quite quickly.

“Your… your _what_?”

Angela lets out a small laugh, twirling her bangs around her fingers. “Well, he’s not _really_ my uncle, but he sort of raised me.”

Torbjörn hums at this statement, quite proud of himself. “I have kids of my own, too, but the poor lass didn’t have anyone to help her out. Took her into me and my wife’s loving arms!” He wraps his arm around Angela’s waist and gleams a wholesome smile, beaming with happiness. Angela just pats his head in return. Jamison can’t find the right words in the moment, but he returns a grin and stares at the floor. Torbjörn suddenly jumps up at the realization at the lack of a limb Jamison has and taps his arm to grab attention.

“Don’t think I forgot ‘bout your arm, it’s in my office! Come have a look,” he smiles and leads the group to the office located in the back of the building. The dwarf swings the door open and the ceiling lamp flickers on. There is a work bench placed in the middle of the room, bolts and scraps of metal scattered over the corroded top. He leads them over and uncovers the arm from the oily cloth resting on it. It looked brand new and Jamison was in complete awe at the sight of it. He steps towards the table to examine the arm, turning it over and looking back at his reflection.

“Yup,” Torbjörn clears his throat, “took me all night, but I polished it up for ya and tightened some bolts. Should be as spiffy like when you first got it!”

Jamison excitedly adjusts the arm on, stretching it and curling his fingers. All the rust and slight dings to it was completely gone and he couldn’t more ecstatic about it. Angela walks towards Jamison and examines the arm for herself, causing Jamison to blush and make his arm turn limp for her to easily manipulate it.

“Wow, so this arm was for you, huh? Torbjörn was so excited to work on this! Always was going at it when I came to visit,” Angela smiles at the memory and eyes up to Jamison. He looks away for a second but looks back, holding her gaze. After cleaning himself up last night, his freckles were clearly visible, especially in the blinding light of the lamp. He can see her face brighten up and she flutters her eyes at him. The moment breaks when Torbjörn stomps in to remind them of the sitting car in the front that’s waiting for a fixer upper.

Jamison and Angela snap out of their dreamy state and follow the dwarf to the front. Jamison didn’t take time to look at the vehicle when entering the building from being so distracted by Angela, but he gasps at the sight of it when he finally does- a beautiful, shiny red car, freshly polished with brand new rims and tinted windows. The model itself was at least 100 grand, and Jamison circles the car in amazement and looks upon it hungirly. Compared to his rickety truck, this hot rod was like a king’s crown to a peasant.

“Wow,” Jamison gasps out, “this thing is a damn beauty, I tell ya.”

Angela giggles and shrugs her shoulders at his statement. “It was a graduation gift Torbjörn gave me. He was so excited when he showed me.”

“Did he, uh, make it?”

“Ah, no,” Torbjörn intervenes. “I did fix it up from the beat up original one, though. Put in a new engine and everythin’. But seems the age of the model is finally catchin’ up,” he shakes his head and puts his hands on his hips.

“Well, let’s take a look at the damn thing and get it goin’!” Jamison exclaims and Torbjörn lets out a mighty laugh at his excitement. They rip the car’s hood open and tinker for hours on end whilst Angela resided on a sofa nearby to watch. At some point, she falls asleep and was gently shaken by Torbjörn, fluttering her eyes open to the dark night sky but also a gleeful Jamison. She huffs out a laugh and leans up to let her hair down from her knotted ponytail. She puffs the ends of her hair and slowly stands up.

“So, how’s it lookin’ chief?” She grins at both the men and their smiles were still not wiping off their tired and dirty faces.

“See for yourself, lass!” Torbjörn throws her the keys and Angela clasps them in her hands. She walks towards the driver side and opens the door, pushing the key inside the ignition and listening to a powerful roar from the engine once turning the key. She gasps and smiles at both of them.

“Oh my gosh! So much better! It was like popcorn this morning.”

They all laugh and Torbjörn goes over the cost of everything as Jamison lays on the couch Angela slept on. Her sweet scent lingers on the couch and Jamison felt a fuzzy sensation in his stomach. He was surprised and worried at her being here today, but they all shared great jargons and stories, making the day actually fun for once. He didn’t want to go home yet, but his fatigue told him otherwise.

Torbjörn calls Jamison over and he shoots up from the couch and jogs over to the two of them. The dwarf thanks the Junker for helping him out with the car and was glad he and his niece met today, still not knowing the interaction they had last night. Jamison nods in agreement and smiles at both of them, scrunching his rosy nose. Torbjörn dismisses them both and they all say their goodnights. Angela pulls her car out of the garage and into the street, lowering her window to say a proper goodbye to Jamison.

Angela leans out her window and places her face in her sweaty palms. “It was nice to meet you again, Jamison. Thank you for fixing my car up.”

Jamison just awkwardly laughs and scratches his head once more, looking towards the stars twinkling above them. “Yeah, no problem, mate. Was a pleasure!”

“Wanna come with me?”

“Wha- excuse me?”

“Wanna come with me? To a malt shop? I know a good one on the edge of town. It’s okay if not, Jamison.”

Angela’s smile and offer make Jamison’s heart beat faster and his face flush red. He was in pure shock at the fact she would invite him out somewhere so quickly after yesterday. His sleepiness was nowhere to be seen, but he still swallows the _yes_ that so desperately wants to jump out. He clears his throat and crosses his arms.

“Well, I’m really- I ain’t… I don’t want to make your car dirty, Angie,” he yelps at the unintentional nickname that slips out. He can’t _believe_ he just fucking said that.

“Oh, is that the nickname you want to give me?” She hums and tilts her head, locking her gleaming eyes with his burning ones.

“That was- that was a mistake- It slipped out!”

“Oh, it’s quite alright. I like it.”

Her smile just shoots more arrows through his heart and causes him to shudder.

“I don’t mind you getting my car dirty. It’s not like anyone else comes in here.”

Jamison was still hesitant, he was in no shape to go out in the public eye. But her offer was like a dying wish to him. He can’t reject her, especially with the way she looked and the way her voice sent shivers through his body, it was irresistible. He hesitantly agrees and she immediately unlocks her passenger side door to let him in.

“Well, come on then, Jamie. No time to waste! The night is still young.”

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! this is my first like, actually fic, and im having a lot of fun. i hope ya enjoy it. also thanks to the lovely Ceia (https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceia/) for being my beta tester <3 check out her fic 'built of metal'. its wonderful and super well written (and its mercyrat!) <3 this was also inspired but muppet's suuuuuper cute headcanons! <3 also i hopefully will get the hang of this website in a jiffy


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